Bookmark #450

It is time for me to let things happen. To let it rain, let happiness fall in my lap and not shoo it off or ask it to wait at the door. It is time for me to open the door before it knocks. It is, perhaps, why happiness is elusive. It waits, and then, remembering past scuffles, we let it wait. We never open the door out of spite. This spitefulness is what I need to let go of, what I need to let the rain wash off me, wash away, and I shall let it. The other evening, as I stood waiting for a cab, a cup of coffee in my hand, it began to drizzle. I stood waiting. It continued drizzling. I was done worrying about these imagined troubles—problems I create on my own, only to fail to solve them, ending up in a sort of chosen misery.

Since I opened the door to everything that can happen to me, good and bad, everything has indeed happened. It has been my only learning, perhaps, hidden underneath the surface of the many things I’ve learned in this short life, to let go. It all brings me back to an ordinary evening: me, being afraid to keep a cup on the railing, lest it fall; a familiar voice telling me to let go and see what happens; the cup not falling off after all. The lesson is half a decade too late; the voice has but faded into the depths of my memory. I shall do my best with it, in happiness and in pain. I shall let things happen; I shall let it rain. This trust in my fate, now that it is here, what must I do with it besides live? Since time keeps moving, whether we ponder over things or not, I’ll continue with this unbound trust: everything will turn out okay as long as I keep walking.

The latter is something I have always known. I wonder if that is why I met you and you met me. For me to teach you how to keep walking, and for you to tell me to have trust in the path, and for us to go in our own way. I wonder about this as I stare at the blur of the city—grey, faded, engulfed within the pattering white noise of the rain. But what good is wondering? I leave this thought on the wet marble sill of the balcony. I go back inside to begin writing as the music and the rain sing a duet. I look out the glass door. The drops have washed my thought away.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here